Of Those in the Background World: Year One

By Endeavour

Set amidst the whisper of war that is sweeping the world and in an altered past, Of Those in the Background World is the tale of two families; one of a Swiss family and the other of German nobility as they intertwine together with the course of history that is redefined from what the path of fates have originally place for them - blend of Historical fiction, Science fiction, and alternate history. The story tells from the point of view of a governess of the Swiss family that has been taking care of the children for some time. She tells of Matteo, a boy that was conscripted into the Swiss army before the occurrence of the Second World War and through this training and experience, he was somehow experiencing a change in time that would change what was supposed to be the path he took and this affected the whole world as well like seeing the war ending later than 1945. Matteo is not the only one that sees such changes. Pacifist Berthold of the German family see that the world was forming to something that is beyond explanation. He was able to see this when he took up a role in the Wehrmacht in which we was able to have his fair share of the horrors of war and the grief of humanity in many episodes. The novel also looks upon how their parents used the time changing continuum to elevate their status to one of power and with power, comes greed, which they used to influence the events and everything around them.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Partridge Publishing Singapore
• Release date: Sep 24, 2019
• ISBN: 9781543752748

Book preview

PROLOGUE

And once you are awake, you shall remain awake eternally.

― Friedrich Nietzsche

I began writing this story in the future but I took to publishing it by the year 1913 because that was a year before the Great War broke out and an event that defines our history. However, this is not a story about politics but of the lives that experienced the change and so I devote this book to them, who I had once been with, back in the warring years. I don’t know if this is the right thing to do because it feels weird when people hear it, as it felt different. All the weirdness and the horrors that the eye could see have categorized this story, among the general audience, as fiction or speculative fiction, but the truth is far greater than people think and believe. Back then, I was simply a young maid in a household and in charge of taking good care of the children. I didn’t realize that such an involvement with the family could expose me to the lies that we have been living for many generations.

An unknown time – I didn’t realize that I had written quite a lot on the subject until my husband pointed it out to me since he is the one who proofreads my poor language. But I had written some in French and so I felt that he might not understand those French words and mistake them for German. The papers that I had taken to typing were all scattered on the table and it was only upon his arrival that I decided to tidy up a bit, so as to make him feel welcome. I caught a glimpse of my husband from the kitchen window, cycling home from his usual workplace in the fields. It had been a long day for him and I didn’t want him to feel disgusting upon his return. He was drenched in sweat and so his pointy hair was sunk all the way and there he stood with that foul smell that I tried to bear.

Ms Calson gave us some chocolates she got from Jeju Island. They are really wonderful. I pinched my nose when he was behind me.

That’s great. He smiled. I should try them… He began searching the top cabinets like a child looking for candy.

It’s in the fridge.

Thanks, he replied and showed me the packaging with the Korean words inscribed.

Anyway, how were the piglets? I asked, as he settled down nearby and grabbed hold of my manuscript, tucking the pages neatly.

Flipping a few pages and skimming through, he replied: Oh they are fine. Eating well, in fact!

Would you like anything to drink? I stood up and headed for the sink.

He raised an arm. Ovomaltine! That would be great! As I went to prepare his beverage, he reached out for several more of my typed papers and continued skimming through them. It seems that some of the pages are not in order.

The kettle boiled and then it whistled. With a thick cloth, I pushed open the lid of the spout and held the handle to begin the pouring. I can’t remember how the events unfolded, actually. My memory is a bit fuzzy. The hot liquid dissolved the powdered cocoa and it rose nearly to the brim of the mug.

That would be a bit complicated. Why don’t you ask one of the family members?

How? I asked and added: I am no longer in contact with them.

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Optimistic people would say that I am a very lucky woman, for I had been at a neutral place in the wrong time. From the pond over which I was crossing by bridge, I have seen many of my relatives in other parts of Europe coming out like skeletons, once the Nazi war machine burst into flames with the will and might of righteous people. Pessimistic people would say that our futures are riddled with misfortune in every step.

My husband followed behind, walking with the umbrella that he used as a cane on his usual Sunday walks once we got out of the church. The cathedral bell was still tolling and the more we walked, the further we felt that the sound seemed to be distancing from us.

Do you ever think of going on a holiday?

Where do you think would be a nice place?

He went on to think, leaning himself to see the ducks making their crossing. They were following their mother who shook her fluffy scut before setting foot in the warm pool. Her young followed behind like crusaders with their leader and there, as the mother flapped her way to the middle, a long snake was made out of the ducklings and the mother duck.

How about Egypt? he said, turning to me, no doubt thinking of the Nile and the books that featured that funny Belgian detective. What about Switzerland? Or perhaps France?

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In my younger years, I had taken up a role as his secretary when the cotton mill began operating in the Normandy sector at the beginning of the thirties. People would say I was indeed lucky for having landed myself in that role because the world was facing a financial depression that left many without jobs. I applied for the job, in which many women of my age tried to compete too, but the Lord was gracious to me and gave me that job.

15th January 1937 – I had not seen the big boss for quite a long time, for he seemed to prefer talking to me using the phone that connected his office to my desk. He also never left by the front door, which made him a rather secretive person since his preference was to leave from the window of his office like some schoolboy escaping detention. It was on this morning that I managed to catch a quick glimpse of him, for he came late that morning and thus, forgot to go through his office window.

Has the German businessman arrived? he asked as he rushed in, struggling to amend his tie.

Yes, sir. I could easily identify him by his booming voice. I had expected him to be a bit younger but he looked like he was in his mid-thirties and spoke with a thick Swiss accent that complimented the roots of the company, which had its headquarters back in Switzerland. He straightened out his clothing to remove his crumples before making his way into the meeting room.

Is Zames inside? he asked before knocking, and receiving a nod, he went in. His other secretary was seated opposite the German businessman, who was accompanied by his financial advisors, of whom one looked Asian. The tall one stood up upon seeing him and made a quick bow and he too replied, for it seemed respectful.

How are you, Mr Kilian? The German asked as he too stood up upon the arrival.

I am sorry, gentlemen, for my unforgivable lateness, he informed them. Shall we get straight to business? They agreed and returned to their seats. May I see the current report, Zames?

The young secretary did as he was told. As you can see, the supply of cotton needed from your company is vital for Germany. These cotton supplies will be used to make clothing for poor citizens in the Bremen region. This is the least we can do for our people at a time like this.

And how much are we looking at?

Around seventy thousand Reichsmarks… That amount changed our expressions and with him adding that our products were needed for the citizens up-country, it seemed like a normal business deal that any businessman with the feel of success in his bones would agree to. Naturally, Mr Kilian took to the agreement with his signature and a wonderful handshake. Germany, as he looked upon it, was a country on the verge of collapse but perhaps with some concessions and a bit of forgiveness, he believed that such an act would be deemed as charity. Besides, he had no hatred for them who spoke the same language as him and thus, he deemed it more like a helping hand to his blood brothers. With this, Mr Kilian, would you like to enjoy yourself? We should open a bottle of Champagne!

Champagne?

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The party that was organized by some Frenchman was held at a building that had its architecture based on the Renaissance, and one could easily assume that some famous architecture was behind such an intriguing design, like Mansart or someone of that like, with a hint from the era of the second industrial age that revolutionized the futurism that mankind had reached for that time. Mr Kilian had arrived exactly at seven o’clock but the German businessman was rather late and so he and Zames had decided to enter the party first, with the hopes of bumping him along the way as they drank.

I wonder who the host of the house is? he asked Zames, who found it difficult to catch his words but with another repeat, Zames could answer.

I’m not so sure, sir.

An old butler had come to them with a tray in one hand as he began distributing the cocktails to the guests. Mr Kilian called him over with the raising of an arm and the beckoning of his fingers. The butler went to him immediately upon realization and made a short bow.

Excuse me, my good man, where is the host or hostess?

He will be arriving soon, the butler replied. He is out riding with the ladies.

Ah, I see. One could imagine a young man horsing across the bright meadow with the countesses looking upon him like some magnificent figure.

People like the count called him Danton, which was actually his last name, but his father’s name was the same too. Hence, there could be some confusion since guests that frequented the house of the host could not differentiate between the two, son and father. But with the passing of the father that had occurred many years ago, the guests could now see that this Danton was the son. The son, like his father, behaved with utmost loyalty and made his rounds in order to satisfy the guests, just like his father once did. Guests would see him as such a pity when it came to life, but Danton seemed not to bother about the matter. Zames collected a cocktail from the butler and since that would be the only thing he would take, as he was told that the drink was non-alcoholic, and because of his religious exceptions he would abstain from the meat that was served, he chose not to consume anything.

Have you heard what is going on in Germany?

Yes…yes…it seems that another war might break out. A countess spoke in French.

I would rather not see another war, the other replied.

The two men overheard what the two French ladies were saying and that gave shivers to his secretary, for he had heard much news of the horrors that had occurred to his relatives back in Germany when the troops of the National Socialists started ransacking the businesses there. He tried to hide it, tucking one hand into his coat, and tried to enjoy the tune of Mon Legionnaire that was starting up just as the previous tune began to fade.

I simply don’t understand the talk of war. He turned to Zames. I mean, isn’t business quickly recovering?

It seems that only our business is doing well, Zames pointed out. The levels of poverty are quite high in many nations.

Yes, such a pity. A senior came into the talk. The previous war has made us all crippled, but let’s hope that does not spoil our night. The two ladies went to surround him and were impressed by the way he had dressed for the occasion: a nice blue coat under a clean white suit, and with a red tie as a standout. Are you having a good time, ladies?

Indeed, this is a marvellous occasion for the night, one answered as she went to flip her fancy fan. I’m glad that I am able to attend this.

He returned her a smile before attending to the two gentlemen, And you gentlemen? How is your night?

It is great, Kilian replied. However, we are waiting for our German friends.

The count responded with a pretend spit and a thick cough. I would never invite the Germans! Look what they did to our nation back in 1914!

Kilian didn’t like his look. I think we should simply forgive what the Germans did, right? Look at me! I am Swiss and I speak German…

The count quickly interrupted. The Swiss have always been neutral, right?

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In later years, we found out that he was the host of the house and seemed to despise the Germans for he had led a regiment back in the war to end all wars – which of course, according to the annals of history, did not end war – and with his nation being in ruins at the end of the battle, he grew to hate them even more. Count Hauteclocque, as he was known by many, would later on serve in the Free French Forces when another war in Europe broke out, but there are other sources that claimed that he was executed by members of Leibstandarte SS.

Now, when I looked upon my manuscript, I felt that the book did not share a similar view to the count. My husband pointed out with a chuckle, that it was neutral when it came to the book’s depiction of war and sorrow. He was right in many ways, for the Swiss were not directly involved in the conflict, for we were in the ‘armed neutrality’ mode, which seemed to have carried along with whatever I had written.

Have you fed the hens? I asked him.

Ah. He slapped himself. I should do it immediately.

As he stood up, I pushed him back to the seat. Let me do it instead…

There was a sack of grains that was located at the entrance of the barn, and with a scoop made by my hand, I sprinkled the tiny bits on the floor of hay, and the hens went pecking away to fill their hunger. I remember doing this back in my younger days, for I too was tasked out to help Uncle Berun with the feeding, on top of managing the work given to me, and I felt that it was a way to repay back to Mr Kilian for saving me from the jaws of the Waffen-SS. That was towards the middle of 1940, when all hell was let loose.

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8th May 1937 – With the deal sealed, the Swiss businessman decided to return home in order to see his family. He had left the Paris sector of the business under Zames, for he had placed his full trust in him and so he need not worry if there was an issue regarding the company. On that morning, he waved goodbye to France and said hello to his homeland. He arrived there by train and was greeted warmly by his family. I had to accompany the children there, despite the two of them being all grown up, but the little one, little Hans, still needed me and so I had to go. I was not really against it or anything because a trip to the train station seemed to stretch my legs. When he arrived at the station, there were a few people crowding around and one or two seemed to be on leave from military service. The eldest boy, Matteo, seemed to be impressed by these uniformed men as they walked past us. There was a whistle from the engine, which made him realize that we had gone further and so he stepped on it to get towards us. Their father waved as the children charged at him, hugging him, with little Hans on his leg and Zoe and her brother by their father’s side. I too came and made a quick bow as he handed me his hat.

How was your trip, father? his son asked.

It was pleasant indeed, he answered back, and he took to carry Hans after handing me his small luggage. I have good news for all of you.

Zoe went behind and helped me with the luggage. Papa, can we have a tea break?

Yes…Yes…Then I shall discuss with you about that good news, he agreed.

I still remember the small café which used to serve very wonderful cheesecake. One could smell such honey fragrance simply by walking a metre away and this was due to the baker often leaving the window of his kitchen ajar. One would simply melt away at such a smell. The waitress, whom we knew very well and was called June, began to serve the children with their usual, but their father decided to opt for black coffee instead, while I simply had plain tea.

I have good news too. Matteo notified his father, once the waitress left. I have received my conscription letter.

I see. The old man crossed his arms. And what about the details?

At the start of the next year, I will be leaving and joining the border guards, he told him.

Well, son, it is simply for a while. He winked. I did my fair bit too, back when I was your age.

Did you fight?

The waitress returned with the push of a trolley that held their cakes and beverages. She carefully placed them on the table before asking: Is there anything else I could assist you with?

It’s alright, Kilian replied, and quickly, she left. Switzerland has never been at war for such a long time. I don’t think we ever will in the future.

Such a pity, Matteo sighed. Then it would be really boring.

Zoe began to arrange the plates based on what they had ordered, before asking her father: Papa, what is the good news you want to mention to us?

Ah. He pulled the saucer close to him. The business is going well and so is the economy. I feel that with the recent success of the company, especially with the dealings with the Germans and Italians, I feel that there is a need for celebration.

Congratulations, I told him. Will you be having another gathering?

Why don’t we celebrate when Matteo departs for the army? suggested Zoe.

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Matteo had with him an unopened bottle, which he presented grandly to Grandpa, who was seated comfortably in his wheelchair. The butler had pushed him to the veranda, for he waited for his son’s arrival. Chansivan and Co. had begun with the oldest senior in the family and now, being semi-retired, he still forced himself to contribute to the cotton industry, despite having his son to take over. The old man made a long wave as he heard the horns of our car entering through the side gates, the car stopping just right at the façade of the home.

How are you, father? Kilian asked as he raced up the stairs.

Well, I’m fine, thank you, Grandpa answered falteringly.

Kilian unveiled the bottle from the cover of the sheet. A gift from France! he announced. However, don’t drink too much…

Yes…yes… Grandpa croaked, but added, That’s my boy! as he rubbed the bottle to see the shine. "By the way how are things going